


Love Could Use a Day of Rest

by xxjinchuurikixx



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barn Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Softcore Porn, Stuck in the Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjinchuurikixx/pseuds/xxjinchuurikixx
Summary: “It’s clear,” Daryl says, lowering his bow and turning back to watch Jesus loop an old bit of rope through the barn handles.“In case anybody decides to try and ruin our quality alone time,” he says, hair dripping in his face, his smile still present.Daryl and Jesus have to take some shelter from the rain for a while.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Jesus, Daryl Dixon/Paul "Jesus" Rovia, desus - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	Love Could Use a Day of Rest

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted barn sex, and I didn't get any rain last fall, so I'm thirsting.
> 
> xo, mo. Come yell at me on tumblr! [xxjinchuurikixx](http://xxjinchuurikixx.tumblr.com/)

Jesus yanks the little barn door shut as Daryl scans the area, crossbow raised. The clouds had looked like rain when they left earlier that morning, but the deluge pouring down outside was troublesome enough that, even if they got back to the car a half mile up the road, the visibility is shit.

“It’s clear,” Daryl says, lowering his bow and turning back to watch Jesus loop an old bit of rope through the barn handles.

“In case anybody decides to try and ruin our quality alone time,” he says, hair dripping in his face, his smile still present.

Daryl rolls his eyes, looking around the barn as his eyes adjust. “Don’t get any funny ideas. I’m saving myself for marriage.” There are a few windows and a loft skylight, giving them a bit of a pale gray glow to see by. The barn is small, just big enough for a tractor and a big trough of oats, some pitchforks and such, and a rickety wooden ladder leads up to the little hay loft above a workbench of tools.

Jesus tugs off his beanie, shaking his wet hair as he tangles a hand through Daryl’s own soaked locks. “Are you asking me to propose?”

Daryl shakes him off. “Shouldn’t hafta ask.”

Snickering, Jesus throws his backpack of supplies up onto the ledge of the hayloft, then starts up the ladder. “Come on.”

Daryl follows, setting his crossbow and bag to the side when he reaches the top. Jesus is already getting comfortable, shrugging out of his trench coat and sprawling across some soft looking straw. The skylight above the hayloft is shaking with the weight of the rain, but the light makes Jesus’ pale, wet skin glitter as he yanks his hoodie over his head. He uses it like a towel, crudely drying his hair with a sleeve and then dabbing at his neck before tossing it to Daryl.

Daryl sits down on some straw and ruffles his hair with the sweater, then dries his bare arms and shrugs out of his vest. “How romantic.”

“I love rain. That smell when it passes, the color of the sky… It’s nice,” Jesus says, lounging across the straw in his damp thermal, smiling at Daryl like he knows something Daryl doesn’t.

Squinting, Daryl gives Jesus a onceover. “What would be nice would be goin’ home. Bein’ dry. I’m hungry.”

“Aw, Daryl, don’t pout,” Jesus says, stretching across the straw to hook a finger into Daryl’s belt loop. “You look so cute when you’re distressed.”

“Shut up. ‘m not distressed,” Daryl grumbles, letting himself be tugged over to the plush pile of straw, and he doesn’t complain when Jesus pulls him across his body, letting Daryl nestle in on top of him.

“You just need to take your mind off of your grumbly tummy,” Jesus says, planting a small kiss on the side of Daryl’s neck. His tongue lightly traces the skin, tasting salt and rain, and Jesus sighs into the spot behind Daryl’s ear. “I can help with that.”

“A good Samaritan.” Daryl shivers into the touch, letting Jesus’ hands run down his sides, rucking up the fabric of his wet tank to touch at his skin.

“I’m completely selfless, you know. Who else would so willingly help you in your time of need?” Those long, slender fingers are surprisingly warm on his back, and Daryl realizes he’s shivering from something besides the cold now.

“’m wet.”

Jesus hisses. “And now I’m completely hard.”

“Idiot,” Daryl groans, turning his face so he can meld their mouths together, cupping Jesus’ smooth cheekbone as he licks across his lips. “I meant my clothes. They’d dry better if we hung ‘em.”

Jesus kisses Daryl again, their tongues touching for a quick, wet slide. “You’re so wise. It’s inspiring.”

“Shut up and get naked.”

Jesus complies without hesitation, though he seems loath to stop touching Daryl. As they drag off their boots and kick out of their soaked jeans, Jesus keeps bumping Daryl’s bare skin with his own, and as Daryl drags his tank over his head, there’s a pair of warm hands and soft lips on his back, touching so gently goosebumps skitter all over Daryl’s skin.

“Hurry up,” Jesus sighs.

Daryl drapes their clothes over the edge of the hayloft, fingers shaking as Jesus licks at the top of his spine. When he turns around to say something about Jesus being a tease and a distraction, Jesus’ mouth finds his, and their simultaneous sighs gust warm air over their tongues.

Jesus lays Daryl back against the straw, and it’s a little pokey for a second before Daryl sinks into the soft, gold tufts. He lefts Jesus do what he wants, which consists of kissing Daryl until it’s hard to breathe and he’s dizzy, hands kneading at Daryl’s thighs, hips, and chest.

The heat of Jesus’ cock dragging against the soft skin on Daryl’s inner thigh makes him shudder, and his face burns with heat as he moans into Jesus’ mouth.

“Well, my, Mr. Dixon. I didn’t know you cared,” Jesus says warmly, kissing from the corner of Daryl’s mouth to his neck. He bites, hard, and Daryl grunts at the sparkle of heat that kicks up in his lower gut before Jesus soothes the sting away with his lips.

“You brat,” Daryl growls, fingers skidding over Jesus’ damp shoulder blades, down to grab his ass and squeeze. “One of these days your mouth is gonna get you in trouble.”

“Promise me,” Jesus says, and Daryl can  _ hear _ the smile.

Jesus lets Daryl’s hands guide them into a rhythm of slow, sweet-burn rutting. The friction is intense, their cocks lining up every few drags for a sweet, hot kick of pleasure, mouths kissing and gasping loudly in the quiet barn.

“Daryl, I want you,” Jesus says, fingers tracing softly over Daryl’s cheekbone, drawing those dark eyes up to his face. “Please, baby.”

Daryl’s stomach twists tightly at that, his breath trapped in his throat for a painful heartbeat. “I… we don’t have any—“

Jesus pecks his mouth, then sits up and digs into one of the inner pockets of his trench coat.

Daryl blinks in disbelief as Jesus holds up a little clear bottle of liquid silk. “Are you fucking—“

“Not yet, I’m not.”

“You just carry that shit around with you?”

“Uh, yeah. Who knows when opportunity will arise. A good scout is always prepared.”

“You’re a little shit.”

Jesus pops the cap up, a sound that makes Daryl’s dick twitch against his stomach. “Well, we don’t have to. I could eat you out until you’re wet and loose for me.”

“Shut up,” Daryl exhales, the warning lost with his breathless tone.

Jesus pours some of the shiny fluid across his fingers, rubbing them together as he looks Daryl over with pitch black eyes. “But I think you want me inside you as soon as possible. You’ve got that flush on your chest, like you’re already on the edge. Want me to make you come first, so I can fuck you longer?”

Fuck _ , the  _ mouth _ on this kid _ , Daryl thinks with his last remaining brain cell. He sits up, muscles shaking as he locks his fingers together behind Jesus’ neck, spreading his legs with the exact opposite of shame.

“If you don’t stop bein’ a little sadist, I’m gonna get off without you, and you won’t be gettin’ your dick in  _ anythin’ _ for a week.”

Jesus kisses him wetly, growling against Daryl’s mouth as he sucks on his bottom lip before biting it. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

“I said—“

Warm, slick fingers slide between Daryl’s ass cheeks, and he lets out a high, fucking embarrassing sound as Jesus runs them over his puckered hole.

“I know what you said, baby,” Jesus says, nuzzling Daryl’s neck. He tilts his chin up, circling his fingers as he licks the shell of Daryl’s ear. “I’ll be good.”

He sinks one finger into Daryl, the glide perfect and smooth, and the pad of his finger settles right against Daryl’s sweet spot.

Daryl whimpers, his breath coming quick and heavy as Jesus rubs his prostate over and over. “Je—I…  _ Hngh _ .”

“Lie back for me, okay?” Jesus murmurs, and Daryl would have fallen back against the straw completely boneless if Jesus didn’t kneel down over him.

Daryl drops his arms back over his head, fingers playing through the straw as Jesus works another finger into him. He looks up, watching as Jesus runs his tongue over his parted lips, eyes transfixed on the place where he’s scissoring two fingers in and out of Daryl’s ass.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean it,” Daryl whimpers, knees buckling as Jesus wriggles a third finger into him.

“What’s that, baby?”

“I… I couldn’t go a week without ya. I jus’… just said that to—“He twists his head to the side and lets out a crying moan against the straw.

Jesus smiles, his free hand walking up Daryl’s stomach. “I know. You need me, right?”

“Yeah.”

Jesus’ fingers pluck at Daryl’s nipples, alternating between twisting and pinching, the heat that builds in Daryl’s chest directly linked to his cock. If someone had told him twenty years ago, even just one year ago maybe, that he’d like having his tits played with, he would have busted their nose.

“I need you, too,” Jesus says, his voice soft, all playfulness gone. “I need you so much, Daryl.”

“I’m good. I’m ready, Jesus—please.”

Jesus very gently slips his fingers free, leaving Daryl shaking and needy, and settled between his spread thighs. He kisses Daryl soundly, swallowing every gasp, and Daryl doesn’t even realize Jesus is lining up until his blood-hot head breaches Daryl’s sensitive rim.

He moans, hands flying up to Jesus’ shoulder and hip, nails digging in bluntly. Jesus thrusts in with a single slide, groaning into Daryl’s neck as he settles, hips flush to Daryl’s ass. “ _ Ah _ . You alright?”

Daryl sighs, nodding into Jesus’ shoulder.

Jesus cants his hips up, and Daryl sinks into the straw bed, groaning. The thunder that echoes outside is washed out by the pounding of his heart, and he clings to Jesus as he starts up a slow, deep rhythm.

Jesus cards Daryl’s hair back from his face, hungry eyes lingering on Daryl’s face, devouring his expression. Daryl’s pinched brows, his open mouth, flushed cheeks; Jesus commits it all to memory, brushing his lips across Daryl’s.

“Daryl,” he says softly, hips pistoning at a harder, faster speed. Desperation starts to peel at the layers of Jesus’ control, patience wearing thin as Daryl clenches around him.

They once managed to make love for forty minutes before Jesus dug bruises into Daryl’s hips and fucked him into the mattress and right across the finish line. Jesus had always believed himself to be a considerate lover, but when Daryl’s body is given to him freely, all his calm and restraint wither and crumble to dust.

Daryl, on the other hand, is lying there helpless to his pleasure. Jesus’ hands coax sweet sounds from his lips, every thrust igniting little sparks in his abdomen, his cock drooling a puddle across his stomach. Every touch feels like fire, and he feels absolutely, completely wanted in Jesus’ arms.

It always feels like the first time, and yet completely different each time Jesus makes love to him. That first time, Daryl had tried to cover his face, had tried to hold in every sound his pleasure threatened to make as Jesus kissed and sucked and broke down every wall inside him. But it didn’t last. By the time Jesus had Daryl on the edge of his third orgasm, he was begging to be fucked, finally, please. Each time after, Daryl felt that resistance from the beginning give, until it existed only in memory, and he would willingly crawl into Jesus’ lap and ask for what his body wanted without feeling inhibited.

Before doesn’t matter to Daryl, not anymore. He only cares about how Jesus had cupped his face when their run almost went south. When some new kid named Andy had gotten taken down by a sudden swarm, and Daryl had his sleeve torn off by a walker’s teeth. He only cares about how that first kiss had felt like coming home, how he didn’t need to tell his body how to hold Jesus, how to tangle his hands into that long, shining hair, how to open his mouth and inhale when Jesus exhaled.

“Your mind runnin’ off on me, sweetheart?” Jesus asks, kissing Daryl’s jaw.

Daryl huffs, knees tightening against Jesus’ sides, ankles crossing over his cute little ass. “Just thinkin’ of you. Only you, I promise.”

“I’m right here,” Jesus says, one hand gripping Daryl’s hip so tightly it burns.

His damp hair is wavy and heavily scented, rain and that butter-stuff Jesus combs into it, and Daryl tangles his hands into it and draws in a shuddering breath. He smells so good, so rich and warm, safe, and Daryl makes a tiny, broken sound in his throat.

“I’ve got you,” Jesus says, hooking his arm under Daryl’s shoulders, fingers splaying across the demon and angel on Daryl’s shoulder blade.

The rumble of thunder is warm and heavy, and Daryl lets out a small, broken sound each time Jesus slides right into that spot. He squeezes his eyes shut, sweating and burning up with need as Jesus pants against his shoulder.

“I’m… Can’t—“Daryl gasps. “Jesus, please.”

“It’s alright, baby. Lemme see,” Jesus says, shaking. He kneels back a bit, holding Daryl up on his thighs, hands on his hips as he ruts into him faster, harder. “Touch yourself, Daryl. Come for me.”

Daryl bites his lip, exhaling hard through his nose, and he wraps his fingers around his dick and gets a few shaking pumps out, the friction setting him off in seconds. He comes with an exhalation of Jesus’ name, streaks of white splashing across his stomach and over his knuckles as he keeps pumping.

“You’re so beautiful, Daryl. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ ,” Jesus says, and then he’s down on his elbows over Daryl, kiss-bitten lips touching in half-kisses as he empties himself into Daryl. His hips slow down, fucking the thick, hot seed in as deep as he can before Jesus collapses half on top of Daryl, still inside, panting.

Daryl’s hands run over his sweaty back, then his arms band around Jesus’ torso and he squeezes him tight.

Jesus wheezes. “Snake.”

Daryl kisses his cheek, relinquishing his powerful grip. “You like it.”

Humming, Jesus gets up on one elbow and kisses Daryl’s lips, hair tickling Daryl’s face. “I like everything about you. Didn’t you know that?”

“Your bar is pretty low.”

“I just made you come and you’re still thinking about my bar.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Daryl groans, pushing as Jesus’ face and shoulders, but he’s too worn out to do much, and Jesus fights back with smiling kisses.

The rain rumbles on, thunder fading and the deluge becoming a soft drizzle, but Daryl and Jesus aren’t in any hurry. They curl into each other’s arms, sweat cooling beneath the edge of Jesus’ trench coat turned blanket.

“Better be getting back before the others start to worry,” Daryl mumbles, half awake with his face buried against Jesus’ chest.

“Just a bit longer. This hayloft is really cozy,” Jesus replies. “Maybe we can come back—do this again sometime.”

“Roll in the hay?”

Jesus practically giggles. “Exactly.”

“You’re so dumb,” Daryl sighs, burrowing into Jesus’ chest, deeper into his arms.

Jesus holds him closely, absently threading his fingers through Daryl’s hair. “Just a little longer,” he says, feeling so close to sleep, so deep in peace he can hardly believe it.

When they get back, Rick makes an off-hand comment about the bits of straw stuck in their hair.


End file.
